


they made you a weapon and told you to find peace.

by amazingjemma, leopoldjamesfitz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fitz as Winter Soldier, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Jemma as Black Widow, On the Run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 14:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13836885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingjemma/pseuds/amazingjemma, https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopoldjamesfitz/pseuds/leopoldjamesfitz
Summary: They are on the run. In danger every minute. Both on the top of both Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most wanted list. Peace is subjective. He is tired of feeling afraid.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jemma: amazingjemma  
> Fitz: leopoldjamesiftz
> 
> All typos, grammar mistakes, etc belong to us.
> 
> Enjoy reading :)

At first, he did not know why she was there.

 

The Soldier has been alone since he escaped S.H.I.E.L.D. They meant well, he realizes, but they don’t trust him. That is fine, he thinks, too, because he does not trust them. He does not trust men in black suits who always have a different agenda than the ones they share with the people around them.

 

But the woman... The Widow. She trusts them.

 

So why was she there?

 

The Soldier stares forward at her, playing with the strap of his combat vest as he lays with his back pressed against the wall. It’s been six months, twelve days, fourteen hours, thirty-six minutes since they have seen one another. Since she stared and turned the blind eye while he disappeared into the night.

 

It’s been longer since Hydra has last seen him. He does not doubt that they have not stopped looking for him. When he escaped from S.H.I.E.L.D., he remembers seeing the papers, the ones that talked about him like he is a monster.

 

He is, but they have terrified the human race of him. The Soldier misses being a ghost. But when The Soldier was a ghost, he was asleep in his down time.

 

Frozen. A memory.

 

The Soldier closes his eyes as he listens to the oncoming traffic. They are surrounded, the two of them, both pressed on either side of a hallway that nobody can get up to without either of them lunging out the awaiting roof. The Soldier listens to hear if anyone is trying to crawl up the stairs undetected. If they have any machinery awaiting them. There is nothing but silence from down below, but there is the rustle of fabric and cocking of guns outside on the roof.

 

“There are at least twenty men out on the roof.” The Soldier tells her, though he imagines she knows this. She is just as well trained as he is. “Fifty or so on the bottom floor of this building. They are dormant. They are not to engage unless they can hear that the men on the roof are in need of help.”

 

He does not know why he feels off. Why this feels off. Perhaps it is because he has memories now. The Soldier knows there was a man before him. A man who had a life and a future and the only thing he wanted to ever do was serve his country like his father had before him. Never mind that the man’s father was a piece of shit who abused the man when he was younger, before he found his voice. The Soldier has a name, an identity, a person who he is. But The Soldier’s memories feel like facts that he knows.

 

Fact 1. His name was Leopold James Fitz. He was born on a sunny day in August to two Scottish Immigrants in Brooklyn, New York.

 

Fact 2. He had a best friend (who was smaller than him once) who’s name was Barbara Louise Morse. She’s known as Captain America now. This is important.

 

Fact 3. Sergeant Leopold Fitz died in combat on January 19, 1944. His body was never located.

 

Fact 4. The Soldier was born on January 20, 1944.

 

A gun cocks closer to the door and The Soldier’s eyes lift up to meet it with a curse on his tongue. “Make that thirty men on the roof.”

 

They are outnumbered. They will probably die today.

 

“We’ve got a couple of minutes before they get tired and bust through the door.” The Soldier reminds The Widow, though he thinks she knows this too. She is very smart, this one.

 

She’s been safe longer than he has. She knows who she is. He knows of no one besides The Widow, the smartest of her class, the strongest too.

 

The one that left Hydra fearful of her existence in a few short years.  
  


The one that trembled underneath his palms, and not out of fear.

 

“Even if we survive,” The Soldier finds himself saying, feeling awfully forlorn at the confession. It sticks uncomfortably in his chest and makes him feel like he might be drowning. He does not identify this feeling. “We might not see one another again.”

 

It’s true. If they survive, if S.H.I.E.L.D. decides to spare them, if they manage to get out of here without that possibility happening, they might be separated forever. Not because of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra, but because it’s not safe for people like them to be found together.

 

He did not know for a long time why he felt the need to keep her safe, like it was a part ingrained him without reason. Did not know where the compulsion comes from, but he does not. And he will do everything he can to make sure that happens.

The Soldier bows his head and listens again, because he feels paralyzed with fear, which is ridiculous.

 

She’s here; she’s fighting with him. Not against him.

 

He doesn’t think he can do that again.

 

With a rush of air, he pushes up a little, pressing his lips together as he looks toward her. “Thirty-five now.” He tells her in a soft voice. “Are you sure about this?”

 

Jemma is not sure why she got into this fight. She never wanted this; she wanted peace and quiet, but after everything she’d done, she would less likely be able to rest and live her life and forget about the monstrous things she’s done.

  
Breathing heavily, she stares blankly at the brick wall, a gun in her sweaty palm and finger on the trigger; she can’t give up yet; she must stay focused and determined till the end of this fight. Jemma allows herself to look at the man she stood up for, convinced in his innocence.

 

No. Not innocence.

 

She has seen things he’s done, even helped him to do this, but everything what they had done were now in the past. They’ve been controlled, black charcoal eyes watching them, manipulating every step.

 

For some reason she feels shallow in relation to Shield – they helped her, they saved her and managed to find something light in her darkened soul. But at the same time, she feels like this is not her. This is not who she is and it’s bothering her more than it really should. Not because of the guilt Jemma might have (the feeling so imperceptible she barely recognizes it), but because of how foreign her being in Shield feels. Hydra made her a weapon, a soldier of her own, not a follower.

 

Simmons briefly thinks of Bobbi and Hunter and how undeservedly kind they were. They thought they could trust her, shared their secrets and plans, and Jemma subconsciously has been detecting their weak points and fears.

 

And their main fear was Winter Soldier. A man who’s been sitting in front of her right now, his features so familiar yet so different.

  
All of this was a well-structured plan the Widow had invented without even realizing: to find the ghost; make Shield believe in this story; to get ready for the worst and wait for the impact.

  
All of this feels like old times, their missions together. They always succeeded, the main pride of the Red Room. Everything she’s learnt from him came in handy eventually. Only now Jemma understands that all this practice was just a preparation for the real war. She’s grateful.

 

She can breathe under the water for two minutes so being quiet is not an issue. The building’s walls are thin enough and Jemma can hear the agents’ footsteps. The Widow easily figures out that Shield has sent their best agents to eliminate their targets. Because this is how Shield really works.

 

Jemma licks her lips and changes her position, her corpus slightly towards the door and closer to the Soldier. She doesn’t let her gun off.

  
They could easily jump out the window but it’s less likely that Shield won’t notice them. Jemma thinks she can surrender so her partner could flee. She’s been with Shield longer than he has and she can surely mess with their mind; she can hurt herself and tell the Soldier did that in order to escape but they won’t believe her.

 

Shield knows Winter Soldier would never hurt Black Widow, especially if she’s on his side in this fight.

  
Footsteps on the rooftop makes Jemma look up and exhale. They are surrounded which means only one thing – either they die here or murder all of them instead. As if on cue, Soldier says the same and Jemma smirks. They’ve always been compatible and it looks like things haven’t changed much.

  
“It depends”, Jemma replies in a hushed tone, “they may disobey if they feel like the threat is under the risk of escape. This is how Shield really works. No question asked. Especially if you are…”

  
Jemma shuts her mouth before saying what she really wanted to say. It’s hard for the both of them. For a long time, they had some sort of home. They were sure they would protect them, if only make them stay with them a little bit longer. They provided them a shelter, but no one stays at Hydra for too long.

  
The cock of the gun on her left makes Jemma still and she points the gun at the door in case they decide to break the door down. Which would be stupid of them, of course.

  
The Soldier sounds worried – which makes Jemma wonder if that’s really him – and the Widow looks at him with barely recognized fear in her eyes. She considers the possibility of her death today but she hasn’t given up yet. She is tired of fighting and going into hiding every time someone finds her on the radar. But for all it’s worth, she’ll keep finding more ways not to be found.

  
Later she would recognize this feeling not as the fear, but the possibility of being alone again. She’s been fighting through blood and sweat, violating laws and even joining “the light side” as Hunter once called it. And for what? To hear him saying that he’s willing to die this easily?

  
For a second Jemma loses her concentration and stares at him blankly, trying to process what he just said.

  
“Wait”, she grabs his metal arm and smiles nervously. “Wait, so… even if we make it, somehow – and wherever you decide to run away… I run with you.”  
  


It’s a strange feeling – never wanting to be without someone and Jemma blame herself for being this loyal to Soldier. He hasn’t done much to be trusted, but it never stopped her.

  
“I am here for a reason, you know?” She tries to sound less scared, because damn if he notices she is (this is not what he taught her; she must not fear).

 

“I can’t just… I can’t leave you, after everything we’ve been through. And I just… I finally feel like old me, thanks to you. And maybe if we have a slightest chance in the future, I think we should… we can try and just live.”

  
Jemma smiles softly and tries to find anything in his blue eyes. Fitz – she still can’t get used to this – looks unsure and somewhat deep in his thoughts, so after a few moments Jemma adds:

  
“We can run from the country, change our identities, no one would find us.”   
  


The Soldier is a threat. A liability.

The widow cuts herself off from saying this, of course, but he knows that that was where she was going with her statement. He does not feel ashamed, or surprised by her words, because he knows this. This is why the big bad men at S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried to lock him away, why the Sokovia Accords were signed. For peace.

 

But The Soldier does not know what peace is.

 

Before this, in Scotland, he’d found some semblance. A routine that wasn’t commandeered by the men that had forged him into this monster. But they had destroyed that. Someone had. And now he was an outlaw.

 

The widow does not belong in this fight, but she is here. She has always been here.

 

The Soldier prepares for his final battle and moves to stand, but the widow - _Jemma_ , his mind supplies - grabs his arm. The movement shocks him and he turns, listening to her words with an intensity that nearly breaks him.

 

His first reaction, other than his gaping mouth, was to ask, “are you serious?”

 

He feels himself recoil almost immediately, not meaning it the way it had come out, but he feels at war with himself all at once. Like he shouldn’t have let her stay, should have encouraged her to leave before it was too late. The Soldier does not know what peace is, but he hoped for better for her.

 

Men begin to approach them from the lower decks, and he knows that they are surrounded. The Soldier is not fearful, not for himself. He is fearful for her.

 

“They’ll find us,” he echoed quietly, thinking of how he’d been in the deep of nowhere when they had found him. He’d been happy there, elated even, and he’d been torn out in the wake of someone doing something in his name. The Soldier would always be wanted for doing things he could not remember anymore.

 

The Soldier had lists of charges that he could do nothing more than agree to because they had stolen those memories from him. There was no room for guilt or grief. He was a machine. They had nothing more than urge to keep him doing their bidding whenever was convenient for them.

 

It was ironic that the same men that had once saved him had, too, broken him behind recognition. He was not the man that The Widow once idolized. He was a fractured version of that man, one that was forced to remember the man he had been in only fragments.

 

“They’ll hurt us.” He replied quietly, pinching his lips together in a soft sigh. It was not the way he wanted to go about this. The men were getting closer, and the pounding on the door told him that they were waiting to pin them and hopefully catch the upperhand.

 

The Soldier knew that they did not wish to bring him back in custody, not unless he were in a body bag.

 

The Soldier leveled her with a tiny glance, dipping his head even further as his hand - his human hand - grips the gun in his hand tighter. “They’ll hurt you.”

 

Jemma was innocent in all of this. She might be tried or demeaned for sticking beside him - because he was a villain, he was their prey and she was helping him get away  - but she, for whatever reason, saw the good in him. The good that barely existed anymore. She was trying to save… him.

 

He did not deserve that.

 

“Remember they're trying to kill me, not you.” He whispered, his voice echoing the hallway. “You can go now, you can run… the airport is only a cab fare away.”

 

His breathing fractured, and he dipped his head lower, exhaling sharply. The Soldier did not wish to bring her into this. Sgt. Leopold Fitz did not wish to bring her into this.

 

The Soldier did not remember who that was, but he heard him, begging to tell her to go free. So she could be safe.

 

“I can’t let them kill you, Jemma.” He whispered softly, ignoring the sounds of the men as they hustle, only a couple of floors down now. “You need to be safe.”

 

The Soldier wondered if it would be easier to claim her a victim, save her soul from whatever path he would inevitably take.  These men would not go easy on an ally of The Soldier. Whether she believed to be running with him or the man he could be or not.

 

“You need to be safe.” He repeated gently. “How can you think I could ever give that to you?”

 

The Soldier was a liability, a threat, after all.

 

They are running out of time and Jemma knows that this is not the perfect timing for discussing their future plans. They might not even have a future together, because no one would let them live after such a mess. A mess they have made.   
For some reason, a voice in her head – which sounds surprisingly as Bobbi’s – accuses her for being too selfish. Jemma clenches her hands into a fist and takes a deep breath in order to calm down.

 

She feels sick thinking of herself as a selfish human being – but she had noticed that after capturing the Soldier, she kept herself close to himself, never allowing others to separate them. He was hers and it was wrong. It was childish of her to even think about him as her property and even though he wasn’t, it was her emotional attachment to him.

  
She didn’t want to let him go again. She didn’t want to spend years for searching the ghost. Once found, Jemma didn’t want him to leave his side never again in her life.  
Jemma gripped her gun tighter in her hand and stared at the Soldier, hazel eyes trying to find something familiar in his blue ones. She can read people easily but Winter Soldier was an unresolved mystery. He was hiding not his identity, but also his feelings. Feelings, Jemma believed was still a part of him. Deep inside, she knew that there was the same man from the past who she trusts the most.

  
Jemma didn’t need someone to tell her that she trusted him a little bit too much for her own good. The smartest of her class, she was weak enough to develop feelings for someone she least expected. And if she wasn’t that blind, Jemma’d realize that it made her weaker.

  
A loud bang makes Jemma jump a little and the following warnings didn’t make it any better. They are surrounded and on the verge of death, SHIELD agents ready to fire any moment. Gathering herself, Widow takes a few steps back to the Soldier, grabbing his human arm as well.

  
“Haven’t you understood yet?” She whispers furiously, maintaining an eye contact with the man. “My loyalties are with you. Not with Shield, or Hydra, or whatever organizations I’ve been related to in the past. It’s you. It’s always been you and this is ridiculous, I’m not leaving you here!”

  
As if on cue, the agents started to kick down the door. If Jemma’s calculations are right, it will take them about five minutes to break the door down and annihilate the Black Widow and Winter Soldier.

  
She knew with her being stubborn, Jemma would probably bury them alive without a chance of their escape. She feels him tensing and sighs, shaking her head.

  
“No. No, I’m- I can’t leave you here. We are going to fight together, as we always do. Wasn’t that what made us stronger?” Jemma smiles, allowing sentiments for the very last time in their life. She chuckles when he mentions safety – of all things – and tilts her head, smiling sadly. “And what is safety? Us being caged like foxes for the rest of our lives? Or me being in Shield’s custody?”

  
Loud banging turning into the background when Jemma goes on her tiptoes and grabs Fitz by the collar of his combat vest, kissing him on the lips. She doesn’t remember the last time she had this opportunity to have such intimate contact and Jemma must admit she missed this feeling. She feels the Soldier softening under her touch and allows herself to be bolder with this step. Jemma desperately tries to savour this moment before she makes the most reckless decision in her life.   
Stepping back, Simmons caresses Fitz’s cheek with her fingers with a knowing smile on her lips.

  
“Perhaps you can’t, but I can give it to you, so…”

  
She doesn’t give him time to protest and say anything by pushing him towards the window which may be the only way of escaping for him.

  
“We split up and fight together, whether you like it or not. Meet me in three blocks near the red bricked building. Now go!”

  
Jemma knows it’s hard for him to leave her with those who want him dead, but Widow was with Shield longer than he was and she knows everything about their tactics. With her knives, it would have taken her less long but the gun will do. She might as well trick them, but for now she has to win some time for their final fight.


	2. Chapter 2

The nightmares of the past would haunt Jemma in her dreams, sharp claws and charcoal eyes bleeding tears trying to get to her and grab by her wrists taking into the darkness. She wakes up with a gasp and spends five minutes straight breathing heavily until she recognizes the colours and surroundings of the place she’s in.  
The walls of the flat are grey and the curtains are brown; Jemma doesn’t know what time is it but it doesn’t bother her that much – she chose those curtains on purpose. Hiding is not easy, but she’s doing her best.

  
_They_ are doing their best.

 

Today, it takes her more than ten minutes to calm down. Pulling her knees to her chest, Jemma turns her head to the left and purses her lips, watching him breathing in and out, eyes opened looking worryingly at her. She doesn’t know if he’s been awake this whole time but it doesn’t matter. He’s here with her, the silence of their small hiding place is surprisingly too loud for someone who’s been on a battleground this whole time.

  
Moving slowly, Jemma scoots closer to Fitz and lays on her head on his chest, feeling his human arm embracing her cautiously. She knows he still hasn’t used to this, but she appreciates his attempts at living a civic life.  
She feels him pushing his fingers through her hair and closes her eyes, her lips curving into a smile. “This feels nice.”

  
They barely leave their bed now, only if it’s really necessary, and if Jemma’s honest, she likes this style of living. There’s no rush, no guns, no chase and no blood. Their neighbours are nice but they don’t really talk to them. Still, when Jemma meets them on an entryway, she’s polite but reserved.

  
The Widow looks up to look at the Soldier, noticing his blue eyes concentrated on some spot on the wall. Simmons still can’t read him but she decides it’s for the better; he talks more and at some point it’s easier to read his emotions. And even know, Jemma whispers softly:

  
“What’s wrong?”

  
She wants him to feel safe and sound, make sure nothing’s bothering him. Jemma knows this is the life Fitz thinks he doesn’t deserve, but it’s still better than constantly being on the run. Here, no one can find or recognize them.

  
They have finally found their peace.  


The Soldier didn’t sleep well.

 

He thinks that Jemma might know that, but she hadn’t questioned him on it. Most of their days were spent entwined in the middle of their small flat, with her leveled breathing in his ear and his heart in his throat because she’d always looked so content whilst she slept.

 

He could not mirror the same content in his own mind.

 

But tonight, he wakes up to find her hunched over, knees to her chest, and panic in each breath she takes. He knows without even asking that it had been a nightmare, much the same as he has grown used to having in recent months, but cannot find the words to ask if she is alright, though he knows it could be as easy as that.

 

She doesn’t look up at him when she lies back down, head upon his chest and he almost freezes – this isn’t foreign to him, her loving touch, her warmth – but catches himself, his arm moving hesitantly around her, his fingers raking through her hair as he attempts to sooth her.

 

He is not very good at this, he knows, but he tries.

 

He’d asked her to call him Fitz, recently. Give an identity to a man. A Good Soldier. Someone he’d spent too long trying to be, only to realize that perhaps those parts of him weren’t meant to return.

 

Perhaps S.H.I.E.L.D. had realized that too, and that was why they were hiding from them now.

 

This was a new start, for him, for the both of them, and it only seemed fitting to start it where he’d once begun. Even if the memories were not ones that came easily to him. Even if he still woke up in fear for the rest of his days.

 

 _What’s wrong?_ She asks, and he has to stop himself from asking what is right.

 

They are on the run. In danger every minute. Both on the top of both Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most wanted list. Peace is subjective. He is tired of feeling afraid.

 

But they are together, and somehow that makes the rest of everything okay.

 

“Nothing,” he promises after a moment, letting out a low and quiet breath as he pulls her closer, dropping his human hand against her waist, just above where her shirt had ridden up. “Are you okay?” He murmurs, brushing a kiss to the center of her forehead when she nods. He’s not sure why she feels warm every time he does that, but he likes the sensation and repeats it once more.

 

He’s never sure if she is telling the truth, but to be fair, he feels the same about his own self more often than naught.

 

It works for them, and that is all anyone could ask.

 

“You should sleep more,” he tells her, because it is not quite light out yet, and neither of them had rested enough, but he does not feel tired anymore. Fitz has slept enough. “I will keep watch.”

 

She moves to argue with him and he shakes his head slowly, reaching up with his metal arm as gently as he can as he cups her cheek. She shivers underneath, the cool steel not quite as warm as the arm around him.

 

“ _Sleep_ , milaya moya.” He urges one more time, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I will be here when you wake.”

 

He thinks, perhaps, he might’ve made that promise once before, a lifetime ago now, but never with the intention to keep it. But it is different now. They are different now.

 

He would not leave her side for all the money in the world.

 

As she settles, he kisses her forehead again and settles too, though the only thing he can do is stare up at the ceiling. The sounds of the city do not bother him as much as they used to, nor does the sound of the people walking above them.

 

They are at peace.

 

In the quiet of their room, he tightens the grip around her waist and listens to the sound of her breathing, softer and calmer now, and exhales his relief.

 

They are okay, he reminds himself quietly, and for once, he believes it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We both cried at the end.  
> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
